An Introduction
by Nyx6
Summary: So I issued myself a challenge a while back and here's the result, my take on an old favourite. Bobby calls the boys with some very unwelcome news...Short story, formerly a one-shot.
1. An Introduction

I kind of had two main aims in mind when I started this; firstly, not screwing with the 'feel' of the show (don't worry, no bratty teenagers here!) and secondly presenting it like it might be done in an episode.

It's set (for anyone who cares) early season 2, so Adam does not 'exist' at this point which I hope makes John look a little less like some crazed sex-maniac!

Anyway, on with the show and as always...enjoy!

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**An Introduction.**

They'd been gone from Bobby's for less than five days when he'd called and asked them to return again, the contact sooner than their usual custom allowed except for in the case of emergencies.

"What's wrong Bobby?" Sam had asked in concern, brow wrinkling in the passenger seat as he tried to make out the older hunter's voice over the growl of the Impala. Dean had shot him a quick glance from behind the wheel, trying to interpret the conversation based on his brother's expression. Cluelessness hadn't helped him much.

"What?" he'd fired off the second Sam had disconnected the call, waiting for orders. Sam had seemed puzzled, his voice caught part way between amused and thoughtful,

"He uh…wants us to go back,"

Dean had frowned, senses flicking to high alert,

"He got trouble?"

"No," Sam had shook his head, "Didn't sound like it."

"Then what's he want us back for?"

"I've no idea."

Their combined confusion had not stopped them from turning the car around however, tracking back along the well worked highway and aiming for the increasingly familiar surroundings of Bobby's lot, which after a lengthy absence was starting to feel like a home from home once more. Especially since the loss of their father had shrunk their numbers to two and rendered them without a base other than wherever the hell the Impala was parked. Bobby and his shabby lodgings gave them roots, not to mention a gruff kind of affection that was as amusing as it was touching. They could have been chasing the abominable snowman himself across the Arctic Circle and they'd still have turned around in an instant if he'd called and asked them to.

As the Impala drew to a halt across the dusty ground however, the throaty roar of the mechanics being replaced with the sporadic clicking of the cooling metal, the brothers couldn't help but share an uncertain glance, the curiosity as much of a lure as the request itself.

"So," muttered Dean in hushed tones as his younger brother fell into step alongside him, "What do you think's going on?"

"I don't know,"

He had some sort of idea though, they both did although it had gone unspoken on the drive. It had been a mere matter of months since John had died and for Bobby to call them so abruptly and with such severity in his voice both boys' thoughts had instantly flown in one direction.

"You think…" Dean paused awkwardly, watching Sam's gaze swing briefly towards him, "You think he's found dad? Found something, a way to get him back maybe?"

Sam sighed slowly, hating the way Dean seemed so optimistic.

"I – ," he stopped, struggling to find the words and desperate not to crush Dean's hopes, "I guess anything's possible."

Although to him that seemed a stretch too far.

Together they mounted the porch in silence, Dean leading the way as he twisted the handle and let himself in across the floorboards, boots stamping loudly in the silence.

"Bobby?" he yelled as Sam filtered in behind him and they hovered side by side on the threshold.

Nothing. Sam's turn to try,

"Bobby?"

As his shout echoed cautiously off the walls they were rewarded by the sight of the older hunter rushing hastily into the room, shutting the door behind him and holding up his hands in a desperate appeal,

"Keep it down will ya?" he snapped in a half-whisper before letting his brow crumple in disgruntled annoyance, "You two're enough to wake the dead."

His tone caught them by surprise and obediently both fell into a silence of renewed confusion. Dean spread his hands wide, waiting a beat before speaking but managing to keep his voice low,

"What's going on?"

Turning to look at them properly for the first time since their arrival, Bobby heaved a sudden sigh, reaching up a hand to scratch his forehead and ducking under the brim of his cap as he did.

"You'd better sit," he instructed wearily, waving a hand towards the chairs but neglecting to take one himself. Sam did as bidden, Dean stayed standing.

"Bobby?"

He gazed back at them doubtfully, one hand playing absently with the stubble at his chin as he contemplated how best to begin,

"You boys ever heard of a Laurie Calloway?" he asked eventually, eyes flicking between them for recognition. Before him the boys shared a similar look, Sam answering for them.

"No. Why?"

Letting out a long sigh Bobby swept a hand across his face, whatever was on his mind was clearly killing him. Dean and Sam's expressions both simultaneously darkened as Bobby shook his head,

"I didn't want to have to be the one to tell you boys, really I didn't. Me and your dad both hoped you'd never have to find out but…"

Dean's expression hardened again visibly at the mention of John, sensing some looming Winchester crisis instead of the happy family reunion he'd been hoping for. Whatever Bobby had for them, it wasn't something that was going to bring their dad back.

"Find out what?" he repeated sharply, gaze speaking volumes. _Just tell us already_. The look prompted another long sigh,

"Laurie Calloway was a woman your dad and me rescued in Pittsburgh nearly six years back," as he spoke he slowly lowered himself into the chair behind his book-stacked desk, clearly resigned enough with the re-telling to take it easy, "Sam, you'd just gone off to college and your brother here was busy working his way through every showgirl in Vegas…"

"Oh yeah," came the quirky grin of absent recognition from Dean, "Good times."

Bobby staunchly ignored him.

"Me and your dad were working a haunting in this up-market lounge bar place," he waved his hand as he spoke, a gesture that the terminology or even appeal of such places was beyond him. Sam frowned,

"A haunting in a _lounge bar_?"

Bobby snorted,

"Yeah well, think Phantom of the Opera and you're not far off," as Sam blinked in surprise Bobby took another deep breath aware that he was straying from the topic, "Anyhow, Laurie was the singer, cabaret-act or whatever you want to call it and since the spirit had taken something of a liking to her we used her as bait to draw it out."

"Did it work?" Sam asked, trying to guess where the story was going as he sensed Dean's frustration growing.

"Yeah it worked," Bobby replied in a tone that bordered on _what, do you think we're stupid_? "If anything it worked too well, thing would've taken Laurie with him had John not saved her," he sighed again, "I saw it then and I warned him too, I _told_ him – ,"

"Told him _what_?" urged Dean tersely.

"Not to get involved."

"With the spirit?"

"With Laurie," Sam replied, guessing the next sentence before Bobby spoke it. The look on the older hunter's face told him he'd hit the nail square on the head and a flicker of what was to come briefly dawned on him. Dean however was still struggling,

"Laurie?" he repeated, sounding disgusted, "You mean dad and her – ?" he trailed off, hurt echoing across every last inch of his face. Hurt and fury, "He cheated on mom?"

For a while no one spoke, each of them pondering the statement with varying degrees of empathy. To everyone but Dean it seemed something of a strange statement, but then again everyone _but_ Dean only knew Mary as a name. Of all three of them he was only one with any actual memories of her and so of the three of them his eyes were the only ones that registered John's actions as a betrayal. It didn't matter that Mary had been dead and so technically it wasn't anything like an affair. It was what it was.

"No. Bobby _no_."

Both faces turned to look at him, Sam taking in the scowl and the darkening cloud in his eyes with a sympathetic sigh. As far as his older brother was concerned, Mary Winchester was the Holy Grail and neither her name nor her memory were to be screwed around with. Bobby was doing both and although Dean knew the hunter would never lie to him, he was damned if he was going to stand by and let both of his parents get sullied.

"Dad wouldn't do that," he continued, speaking slowly as he tried to get a handle on his emotions, his entire tone shot-through with conviction, "He loved mom – ,"

"Well of course he did," Bobby interrupted, eyes glistening as he struggled to watch Dean's pain and balance it with his own guilt, "He loved your mother and you boys more'n I've ever seen a man love anything. But…" he paused helplessly, "But your daddy was a human being too boy, he needed the same things we all need and he and Laurie just…"

As Bobby again began to flounder with the burden of the tale, Sam's eyes flickered sideways towards Dean, watching the unshed tears starting to shine at the bottom of his lids, the face still dark with anger. He looked so lost, so childlike. He wasn't going to cry though, he was too furious to cry. Furious with Bobby sure, but mostly he was furious with their dad and that in itself was something almost completely alien to him. In Dean's eyes their dad had been the one guy on earth who couldn't put a foot wrong, he'd messed up sure, but he was still Dean's hero. Always had been. Fallacy had never factored into it, nor had betrayal.

Bobby swallowed down his emotion and tried again,

"The two of them filled a need for each other. It wasn't love, wasn't anything like that, it was about being _normal_."

"How long?" he didn't even bother to look up, too busy trying to contain the need to put his fist through something.

"Just the one time. We packed up and left the next morning."

Taking a steadying breath and trying to work out whether his emotion came from the story or watching Dean, Sam blinked and sat up a little straighter in his seat, seeing a gaping hole emerging where information should have been.

"So, why are you telling us this Bobby?"

His father's having had a one-night stand here and there wasn't exactly something he'd ever thought about, but faced with the bare facts it didn't particularly surprise him either. Then again he'd never seen their dad as the demigod Dean had and so therefore felt the fall from grace a lot less acutely. Abruptly Bobby sighed again, shifting awkwardly in his chair and Sam shared a look with his brother, a pit of dread growing in each one of them. There was more.

"Because…because that's not where this whole sorry mess ends. I wish it was,"

"Well stop wishing and talk already!" Dean growled in his most feral of tones. Bobby let his usual admonition pass by, the growing aggression only serving to make him feel worse about what he was doing to them. He should never have kept John Winchester's damned secret in the first place, although there he went again, wishing.

"Dean," Sensing the mounting tension Sam stepped in with a gentle prompt, his voice briefly capturing his brother's attention and his expression doing the rest. _It's not Bobby's fault. Calm down_. His response was a long sigh and Dean's shoulders slumping in defeat. Sam turned back to the older hunter, eyes alive with concern but his tone even, "What else?"

Gaze flicking between them cautiously, Bobby paused, steeling himself for what was to come. It wasn't going to be pretty and no matter how he tried to wrap it up it was going to go for them like a punch to the gut. Best to just get it out in the open,

"Laurie…" God help him, "Laurie got pregnant."

"She what?" asked Dean, blinking once in amazement and tilting his head forward as if he'd misheard. He hadn't.

"Laurie got pregnant."

Abruptly, Dean needed a seat, flopping into the chair beside Sam so heavily that it made his brother start, twisting around in sudden worry that he'd passed out from the shock. Dean frowned back at him, _I'm not a girl dude, I'm still here_. Just. When he spoke again Sam's voice sounded small and hoarse,

"What happened to the baby?" Although he wasn't sure he wanted to know. It was an awful thing to admit but part of him was desperately hoping for Bobby to say miscarriage. It would at least have spared Dean and he of another almighty upheaval to their small and dysfunctional-enough-as-it-was family unit. He wasn't entirely sure they had the strength for anything else, not after what they'd been through.

Bobby obviously knew it to, because his whole face was the picture of compassion as he answered, not so much responding to Sam's question as quietly providing the bare facts.

"Little girl, healthy, no complications."

"And…" as Dean continued to sit in silence, Sam struggled to wrap his head around the new information, trying to plot the time line in his head and place him, Dean and their father into position upon it, "…and dad?"

It sounded a simple enough question in itself but they all knew what he really meant by it. _Where was dad? What did he do? What happened to them?_ Briefly Bobby broke eye contact to glance down at his hands, although whether from sorrow or anger neither could tell.

"Laurie didn't tell him. She couldn't, had no way of reaching him. By the time he _did_ find out…" he shrugged hopelessly, skipping part of the narrative as he instead attempted to explain John's thought pattern, "Laurie had a good life set up for them, they had a routine, enough money to get by…your dad just didn't want to get in the way of that. Thought it was best for everyone if he just left well enough alone,"

"What he should have done in the first place," Dean muttered darkly, watching as Sam sat forward in bewildered amazement,

"But why didn't he tell us Bobby?" he paused, swallowing back his uncertainty as a bubble of hurt began to swell inside of him, "Why didn't _you_ tell us?"

"Don't you think I wanted to?!" the hunter all-but snapped back at them, the fact that some of the guilt lay on his shoulders clearly weighing on him heavily as he blinked back the moisture newly gathering in the corner of his eyes, "Hell I wanted to tell you boys from the beginning but your dad…" he tailed off in defeat, slumping back against the seat and shaking his head. When he continued his voice was quieter again, "Why do you think I drove him out of here with a shotgun? Huh?"

The big fight, suddenly it all seemed to make sense.

"…because _he_ wouldn't tell you what was happening and because he made _me_ promise not to tell you either," suddenly he sounded angry, reliving the argument in his head and feeling the emotions rising all over again, "Well I could keep his secret all right, but I didn't have to see him again and I couldn't bare to see you boys knowing that I – ,"

He stopped abruptly, words seemingly not doing justice to his feelings and instead letting a strange silence do all the work. Finally Sam sighed,

"So, you're telling us we have a sister out there? Somewhere?"

"Five years old. Name's Morgan."

From across the room Dean fixed him with a suspiciously dark stare,

"And you know this _how_?"

"Well someone had to keep an eye on them!" Bobby replied hotly, as if he'd been accused of somehow conspiring with the enemy, "And since your dad didn't have the mind to do it…" he tailed off again, shaking his head as he realised that criticisms of John under the circumstances were probably not the best way to go. He let loose a bitter laugh, "Just as well I did too,"

"Why?" Dean shot back quickly, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Bobby gazed up at them sadly,

"Laurie's dead,"

"What!" despite the fact he didn't know her and had only known about her for less than five minutes, the news still came as a shock to Sam, Dean too judging by the ripple of surprise that flashed across his face, "When? How?"

"Three months ago. Fire."

The word sent shivers down their spines and instantly Sam felt his mouth go dry.

"Fire?"

"Hold on a minute," for once it was Dean thinking laterally, his brow creased as he ran the information over in his head, "You said the kid was five. If the fire happened three months ago then – ,"

"So it wasn't the demon?" Sam finished quickly, looking to Bobby in hope. The older hunter shrugged, unable to help.

"Honestly? I don't know."

Dean blinked,

"What do you mean you don't know? I thought you were keeping an eye on them?!"

"I _was_, from a distance. Word-of-mouth, that sort of thing. Got a call from a friend of mine just after you boys left here last time. He'd been down Pittsburgh way and heard there'd been a fire. I don't know exactly what happened."

"Any clues at the house?" Sam pressed urgently, "Any idea why the fire started?"

"It didn't start in the house," Bobby replied with a sigh, "It started in Laurie."

"What?" the frown creasing into a veritable gully of confusion, Dean stepped forward arms folded across his chest and disbelief in his eyes, "What do you mean it started _in_ her?"

"Spontaneous human combustion. She just…went up in flames one day sitting in the car."

Dean snorted,

"Sounds pretty demonic to me Bobby." Horrific too, it sounded horrific. Beside him, face pale with shock, Sam swallowed, running a tongue across dry lips and hating himself for wanting to know the answer to the question he had to ask next,

"What about the girl, what about Morgan?"

His eyes were fixed squarely on Bobby, but as he sat forward he could see Dean's head tilt in his direction. He didn't need to look back to know what expression his brother would be wearing. Same as his; cautious desperation. Bobby's gaze didn't falter,

"She was waiting for her mother to pick her up from kindergarten. Saw the car – crossed three lanes of traffic to get there – and, well, luckily for her some passer-by stopped her from seeing the worst of it."

Sam stifled a sigh, biting down hard on his lip as he tried to imagine the little girl's emotions, the confusion and the pain. Suddenly he realised he didn't need to, all he needed to do was look at Dean. Strange as it was when he'd been Morgan's age he'd been through almost exactly the same thing. Dean realised it too, they all did and the sudden speed with which he turned away from them confirmed that time did not make things any easier.

"Is she okay? What happened to her?" Sam asked quietly, watching Bobby's eye flicker sideways to where Dean had risen from his chair and gone to stand beside the window.

"Well, until three days ago she was with welfare services,"

Sam frowned,

"Welfare services? Why?"

"Laurie was an only child, her parents died in a head-on when she was in her twenties. Her mother was a Ukrainian-born immigrant and her father only had one brother, who is currently in an oncology ward somewhere in Ohio undergoing intensive chemotherapy and so drugged up to the eyeballs he wouldn't recognise his own reflection.... safe to say his prognosis is not good. So, as far as relatives go?" he paused suddenly taking a long breath and looking up to fix them both with a solemn gaze, "You're about all that little girl has left."

They saw what he was doing, saw it in an instant and Dean for one was not having it. He was _not_being guilt-tripped into something so monumental. Something so monumentally stupid. Neither of them were.

"No."

Bobby peered at him

"_No_?"

"No!" Dean barked, the word bouncing off the walls as a dangerous ferocity began to glint in his eyes, "Don't do this, don't you do this to us Bobby. We do _not_ have time to deal with this, we _can't_."

Meaning _he_ couldn't. Sam looked across at him sombrely, voice quiet,

"Dean – ,"

"I mean first dad and now _this_? How much more crap do we have to deal with?" he was looking at Bobby as he spoke, appealing for some sort of reprieve. The older hunter would've done anything to give it to him.

"Her mother _burnt to death_," he stressed gently, vocally underlining the screamingly obvious element of the supernatural. He didn't have a better argument than that.

"So what do you want us to do?" Dean countered, arms out wide, "We've got bigger problems Bobby. Hell, demons kill people all the time, okay? This kid is just another victim,"

"She's a Winchester,"

"No," Dean repeated again with a growl, pointing across the room in warning, "No she's not."

"Not in name boy, but she sure is in blood and tell me, when was the last time something accidental just happened to one of your family?"

"Bobby – ,"

He was starting to break through, he could just see it, the fringes of Dean's conscience creeping in. He tried again,

"She's got nobody else."

The moment Dean's eyes hardened Bobby knew he'd pushed it just a fraction too far,

"I'm sorry about the kid's mom. Really, I am," Dean began quietly, and no one doubted him, "But we're not doing this."

"Was?" As Sam's voice interrupted the tension with a confused tone to his question, the other two turned to look at him, neither following the new direction of the conversation. Sam blinked, "You said she _was_ with child services…" Dean cottoned on instantly, slowly looking towards Bobby with growing horror, "…where is she now?"

Abruptly Bobby's gaze shifted to an awkward spot somewhere beside his feet and he took a deep breath as Dean's voice drifted hesitantly across the room, the anger driven away by pure shock.

"You didn't. Bobby tell me you didn't – ,"

He already knew the answer, they both did and as the silence grew palpable Bobby blinked a couple of times, rose from his chair and slowly headed for the door leading out of the room. Both men watched him in silence, Sam's expression forlorn and Dean's so full of mixed anger and frustration that he looked about as vulnerable was Bobby had ever seen him. Ignoring them was among the hardest things he'd ever had to do, but he'd gone too far to back out. There was no turning back and so slowly he reached for the handle, twisting it in his fingers until it creaked and inching the door open just a fraction.

"Sweetie," he called, trying to sound light despite the situation and his usual countenance, "Could you come here a minute?"

He stepped back into the room in silence, steadfast in his refusal to make eye contact. Nobody moved, nobody spoke, nobody even blinked. It was like Medusa had strolled through and turned them all into inanimate statues as she'd gone. But that was the point, nobody did anything because nobody knew exactly _what _to do. So they stood and they waited.

The sound of tiny footsteps padding slowly across carpet brought the initial reaction, Dean sharing a look with Sam before both of them twisted their heads towards the doorway, trying to catch a glimpse of what lay on the other side, some sort of warning before it stepped in amongst them and they couldn't turn back.

As it turned out she beat them both to it, their first sighting of her arriving in the shape of five little fingers wrapping hesitantly around the doorknob, followed by half-a-face around the corner. A hazel eye and one side of a head of straight brown hair were their first partial glimpse of Bobby's house guest. She was tiny and obviously frightened. Bobby's face softened as her eyes found out his and he crossed the distance towards her, one hand outstretched,

"Come on now," he smiled, his typically gruff tone lightening just a fraction, "Don't be shy," the toe of a small shiny boot slid into view in a hesitant shuffle across the carpet as he spoke, exposing the hem of a denim dress and a thick cardigan, "That's it."

As a delicate little hand reached out Bobby took it up firmly in big calloused fingers and gently pulled her the whole way into the room until she stood pressed against the front of his legs looking at the strangers before her. Her gaze dropped shyly, bottom lip sucked in across her teeth and one finger nervously rubbing concentric circles against the stomach of a stuffed rabbit that was well-loved enough to have at some point lost an ear. She looked so out of place in the run-down, thrift-store, library-style surroundings of Bobby's house that for a moment neither Sam nor Dean could adequately process her existence.

As the awkward silence continued to reign Bobby cleared his throat, hands coming down to rest gently on the girl's shoulders,

"Morgan, these are the boys I was telling you about," he began with hesitation, his cheerful air fooling no one, "Your…your brothers."

Dean's frown darkened in an instant as the older hunters' eyes found out his in a horrific sort of _I'm sorry, I had to tell her _kind of way. They both knew what it meant, he was leaving them no room to back out and suddenly Dean felt the anger flare up to replace his shock again. Sure the kid was sweet-looking enough, her head tipping upwards in just enough curiosity for her to take in their faces through her long-brown hair, but she was just that. A kid. What in the hell were they supposed to do with a kid? He could think of nothing and the fact that he was having too blackened his mood tenfold. He was just about ready to snap.

Finding nothing but unswerving ferocity in Dean's expression, Bobby instead swung his gaze towards Sam, still sitting in the chair hands resting across his knees and mouth hanging partly open in utter shock. He appealed to him desperately, watching as the brown eyes lifted in a slow daze from the little girl's face into his. _Come on son_, he pleaded, _at least for her sake just say something! Anything!_

Sam ran a tongue across dry lips, contemplating the request and unable to keep his gaze from slipping back to Morgan again. He was looking at their sister. _Holy crap_! It was too weird…and yet Bobby was right, whatever he and Dean thought of events there was no point taking any of it out on a child, especially one who'd been through as much as she had and was obviously lost and petrified. Swallowing down the feeling that he wanted to be sick, Sam shifted forwards lowering himself ever so gently off the edge of the chair and crossing the few steps between himself and Bobby in a half-crouch. He could practically feel Dean's gaze burning a hole in the back of his jacket but he kept his eyes fully forward.

"Hi Morgan," he began softly when he was about a foot away, trying to smile but tripping over the girl's name as it stuck on his tongue like a lead weight. Like a burden. He pushed it aside, "I'm Sam."

He was rewarded by the hazel eyes flashing up towards his again briefly, the bottom lip slowly slipped away from the teeth and the head straightened itself further, hair falling away from her face as her grip on the rabbit tightened to a fearful death hold. He swallowed again, never turning his head but raising a hand to point behind him towards the window,

"This is my brother Dean…" he trailed off as he realised he had nothing left to say, the room falling into awkward silence once more with the exception of Bobby sighing somewhere above him.

Eventually however and in a move so slight he almost missed it, Morgan nodded her head. Just once, but a vague form of greeting and hesitant acceptance rolled into one. He smiled instantly, feeling like he'd just completed a marathon and was rewarded in kind by a smile from Morgan, still shy but friendly none the less. In fact, so Hallmark was the moment fast becoming that Sam barely registered Dean's groan of disgust until Bobby was stepping away from Morgan, a name on his lips in warning and worry,

"Dean – ,"

As Morgan stumbled backwards, Bobby's comforting wall of legs gone from behind her, Sam reached out and wrapped a hand around her back, righting her but not getting too close. It surprised him how instinctual a move it was and then abruptly realised he had bigger concerns. _Dea_n. The realisation came as if someone was grabbing a handful of his gut in sharp fingers and he spun quickly to the spot his brother had been occupying just moments before. It was empty.

"Dean!"

He scrambled to his feet quickly, heart pounding. It was an irrational fear at best, but suddenly he felt consumed by the enormity of what they had just been presented with and not being able to see his older brother made him feel more lost and alone than he was willing to admit.

Bobby was standing in the doorway, bright light spilling in from outside as he called across the porch, out into the dusty surroundings beyond.

"Don't do this son," he was pleading, still not able to muster up the severity of his usual tone, "That girl _needs_ you!"

"Forget it Bobby," came the reply as Sam sprinted to the door and tumbled out into the fresh air beyond. His heart almost gave out in relief at the familiar face that stared back at him, Dean standing at the driver's side door with the arm of a leather-clad jacket leaning against the gleaming roof, "I didn't sign on for this, all right?" he was at breaking point, "I didn't sign on for dad dying, I didn't sign on for mom…" he paused briefly to compose himself, "I didn't sign on for Sam being able to see shit in his head and I sure as _hell_ didn't sign on for some kid."

Monologue over he flung open the door, peering upwards,

"Come on Sam."

Instantly his younger brother's face crumpled,

"What? Dea – ,"

"I _said_ come on!" It was no longer an order, it was a shout, loud and angry as it echoed across the expanse of land about them. Sam took a long deep breath. Over the years he'd worked his diplomacy on Dean a number of times with varying success. This time it needed to work.

"No," he replied quietly, one hand out in a _let me explain gesture_ as his brother's eyes snapped up to meet his in surprise, "Dean, listen – ,"

"You're buying this crap?" came the snap of disbelief followed by a humourless snort, "What? You want to play Mr. Mom?"

"Dean – ,"

"_Fine_ Sam, have it your way," and then before either one of them could say another word Dean had climbed into the car and slammed the door shut. The engine roared into life seconds later and Sam abruptly felt his stomach lurch. He started towards the car instantly, hand outstretched towards the handle, trying to get him to stop only to find the gleaming bodywork slide past him like a flash of anger. As he looked up Dean shot him a final look through the window and the hurt and betrayal he saw in the expression made him stop dead. He'd betrayed Dean as well, except he hadn't, never would but that didn't matter because that was how Dean saw it.

The Impala roared off across the dirt, clouds of dust billowing out from under the wheels. Sam watched it go feeling broken, barely noticing as Bobby stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

"He won't have gone far boy," he offered solemnly, "Just be blowing off steam at a bar someplace."

"I know."

Of everything he'd been told since stepping foot in Bobby's front room that morning, that was the _one_ _thing_ Sam already knew. Dean wouldn't leave him, not like that. Bail on Morgan? Well that was entirely possible – especially given the immense and hurtful proportions of their father's new found secrecy – but bailing on _him_? That was just never going to happen.

He sighed heavily, resisting the urge to scream, to put his fist through something, to run off after the Impala and just jump in pretend like things had never happened and drive like hell. Unfortunately none of those things were options at all and instead he turned slowly to follow Bobby into the house, casting one last look over his shoulder as he went.

He'd give Dean a couple of hours to cool off and then go after him before he got too drunk.

Everything would be all right.

It had to be.

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So there it is. How'd I do?

Technically it's supposed to be a one-shot, that's what I intended it to be anyway, but partly through boredom and for my own piece of mind I did write another three chapters just to round things off. If anyone's particularly interested then I'm happy to post them but otherwise I sort of like the cliffie-ness as is - although that's probably just me trying to be edgy!


	2. The Bar

Okay, so since a couple of people asked and it's doing nothing except sitting here on my computer I might as well post the rest. I'd post it all in one go except the site isn't allowing me to upload at the moment, so I'm finding ways around it but it's not ideal and it might take a little bit longer than usual. If you hear nothing for days then you know why!

Anyway, here's the next bit.

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**The Bar.**

Dean was exactly where Sam expected to find him; perched on a stool in a half-empty bar, leather-clad shoulders tense and hunched defensively over a tumbler of amber liquid.

The sight made Sam let out a sigh of relief, his pulse cooling to a steady beat as he took in the familiar posture.

It had taken him a good deal longer than he'd planned to find his brother, Dean having driven slightly further out than he'd expected. Just once on his systematic inspection of every local watering hole had he begun to fear that maybe the eldest Winchester had actually done the unthinkable and driven off altogether, but that fear hadn't lasted long, especially as the black gleam of the Impala had caught his eye alongside the road ahead. He'd instantly felt guilty for doubting Dean at all, not that he relished the prospect of trying to drag him back to Bobby's either.

He'd aimed to let Dean have only an hour to cool off – figuring there were only so many glasses he could down in that time – but what with the wild goose chase that hour had turned into two and Sam could only guess at the mood the added time and alcohol had put his brother into. The fact he was still upright on his stool was of only mild comfort.

Tucking the keys of Bobby's battered old minivan into the pocket of his jacket, Sam took a deep breath and set off towards the bar, noticing Dean's head inch ever so slightly to one side in instant recognition of the familiar gait. Eye contact however seemed strictly off limits, Sam's punishment for not having followed in the first place and for the fact that the pair of them were not at least a million miles away from Bobby's already. Dean Winchester could sulk with the best of them.

"Dean?"

Drawing alongside his brother Sam turned to lean an elbow against the bar, taking in quarter-full whisky sitting loosely in one hand. He narrowed his gaze, trying to work out how many he'd had.

"I'm not drunk Sam," came the reply, momentarily starting him. Sam glanced across doubtfully,

"Uh huh," _whatever you say_, "How many you had?"

A ripple of annoyance flinched across Dean's shoulders, his voice a low growl,

"What, are you my mother now? Not collected enough waifs and strays for the day?" as the silence sat heavily between them with Sam refusing to take the bait, Dean heaved a sigh of frustrated defeat, "One."

Sam frowned,

"One what?"

"Drink. This is my first."

"Your first whisky or – ,"

"My first drink!" Dean snapped in hushed response, tilting the glass and peering down into the liquid as it might hold the answer to their problems. He dropped it back to the bar with a thud, pushing it away and running a weary hand across his face, "I just…" he tailed off with a wave of his hand, "I don't think there's enough booze in the world for this one."

If he'd been bothered by how long it taken his younger brother to find him then he didn't mention it, no doubt taking Sam's eventual appearance at his side as something of a given. It was a two-way street after all, Sam wasn't the only one of the pair who could predict the other to within a heartbeat, nobody knew him like Dean knew him, nobody else had ever really got close enough to bother, except maybe Jessica – for all the blissful ignorance she'd still lived in about him and his family. Dean had known Sam would come because Dean knew Sam.

"Yeah," Sam responded simply, dropping himself into the stool and sitting beside him in silence for a moment. There didn't really seem to be anything appropriate to say, nothing that really summed up how either of them were feeling anyway. As the anger built within him however, Dean decided to at least give it a go in one of the rare flashes of genuine honesty Sam valued so much,

"How could dad do this to us Sammy?" he asked, the question unanswerable but fortunately not needing a reply, "After everything we went through. I mean, hell, I know dad used to screw up, I never said anything but I knew it – ," he ignored the surprised blink Sam angled in his direction, resisting the urge he suddenly felt to soften his tone in respect for their father, his hero. But he couldn't and why the hell should he? He was pissed, "But _this_? He never said a word Sam! Nothing!"

"Maybe he thought we'd never have to know," a complete roll-reversal, Sam for once playing devil's advocate.

"What, he thought we wouldn't find out? That we're _that_ stupid?"

"He didn't think you were stupid Dean," Sam replied evenly, cutting the heart of the matter. Dean was talking directly to John and it was all but killing him that he couldn't get his answers.

"Well then what? _Dad_ was that stupid? Because that's all I can think of right now. Dad was stupid enough to get some woman pregnant and then not think far enough ahead to protect them. I mean the man spent his whole life teaching us to know better than that!"

Sam let out a sigh of his own, unable to contradict. It was true, look at the fuss John had made about Stanford, about the impossibility of having a normal life free from danger. He might not have been perfect, but not even Sam had known him to be a downright fool. As if life hadn't proved dangerous enough for his _legitimate_ children even with all their training and assorted expertise.

"No wonder Bobby was pissed," he added eventually. It seemed to him as if over the years the older hunter had gotten pretty good at dealing with Winchester idiocy. He certainly seemed to have had the practise, "What are we going to do Dean?"

A long pause met his question and for a moment he felt a pang of worry that his brother didn't have an answer. From the earliest memory of his childhood, in response to every query, anxiety and thought, Dean had _always_ had an answer, always. Even if they did tend to vary in merit.

"I don't know Sam," came the response, honest and almost small, "I just…I don't know."

"Bobby thinks we should take her with us,"

Sharp eyes met the suggestion, Dean turning to look at his brother for the first time, the flash of anger almost comforting,

"What do you think?"

Sam shrugged, aware he was still under careful scrutiny and careful in not giving an answer either way.

"If the demon is after her then she needs some kind of protection."

"She wouldn't be any safer with us," Probably less so since the pair of them seemed to be able to find trouble at the corner of just about any street they passed.

"I know," Sam sighed in what seemed like reluctant agreement, a bigger problem on their hands than whether or not to accept a small hitch-hiker, "Either way we've got to make some sort of decision for her. There's no one else that can do it but…" he peered sideways hesitantly, swallowing awkwardly at the neediness of what he was about to say, "I – I can't do it alone Dean."

His brother's head turned towards him at once, eyes locking onto his with the look of protective authority he'd grown up being comforted by. It said a whole sentence at once, _you don't have to do anything alone Sam. I'm here, remember? _

Sam nodded silently. Remember? He wasn't about to forget. Glancing down at the bar again, touchy-feely moment over, he grinned vaguely,

"What do you think what dad would have done?"

Dean snorted,

"It's what he _did_ that's the problem."

True. Sam tried again, tone softer.

"I wonder what mom would have done."

Dean didn't even pause,

"Taken her in."

"She would?" asked Sam sounding surprised and making Dean's heart ache that his little brother couldn't remember anything about her. It had always been that way, little Sammy listening enraptured to Dean's stories about her, the intensity with which he drank up the information the saddest recurring event in their entire shared childhood. He nodded gently,

"Without a second thought."

Dean wished he was more like her. Wished he didn't feel so stupidly jealous over a five year old kid their father had never even met. As if it hadn't sometimes been hard enough sharing their dad with Sam, suddenly he felt like he was competing for the affection all over again which was ridiculous, how the hell could he when their dad was dead? So was hers though and her mother and couldn't he remember all too well how that felt. He sighed again, rubbing at his eyes and trying desperately to sound nonchalant,

"How's the kid doing?"

"Okay I guess, considering," Sam shrugged, "She's pretty nervous but once she lets her guard down a little she's actually, well, kinda cute."

Cute. Great, just what Dean had always wanted. _Cute_. That would scare away the monsters and the demons. _Cute? Come on Sam, think! _

"And what exactly are we supposed to do with Shirley Temple when we're out salting and burning, huh?" he fired back sarcastically, "Leave her in the car with some crayons and hope she doesn't mind when he come back dripping blood all over her teddy bear?" he shook his head solidly, providing his own answer to the question, "Raising a kid on the road is _hard_ Sam."

_I would know_. He didn't say it but he could as well have. After all if either of them had any experience in juggling childcare with living a hunter's lifestyle, then it was Dean.

"I didn't _say _we should take her with us," Sam countered evenly, "But I'm just not seeing a whole lot of options here Dean, as far as the authorities in Pittsburgh are probably concerned Morgan's been kidnapped and I don't think taking her back and saying there _might_ have been a demon after her is going to help. Bobby's right…" his voice quietened slightly, unsure as to how Dean would respond, "…we're all she's got."

"Well, maybe Bobby – ,"

"Come on, do you really see Bobby as a stay-at-home parent? You can't seriously ask him to do this. I mean, he probably would but…this isn't his problem. It's ours."

Wasn't it just.

Dean sighed heavily, knowing Sam was completely one hundred percent right and hating it. How in the hell could they take a kid around with them? A _stranger_? A stranger probably being hunted for by every law enforcement agency in America by that point just to make matters worse.

"You should talk to her Dean," Sam interjected suddenly, eyes deep with sincerity as if he could read all his brother's thoughts. He probably could, "You might…" he paused, not wanting to sound stupid but aware that he was going to fail miserably, "…be surprised."

Yeah. He sounded stupid.

"Oh, come on Sam – ,"

"Well you can't sit here all day _not_ drinking," his brother replied instead, rising from his seat and jingling the keys in his pocket. His voice softened momentarily, the tone of the sentence rising hopefully, "You coming?"

For a long moment he thought Dean was going to say no, still starting hesitantly at the bar, wrestling with himself and Sam's implored plea. He never could resist his little brother, especially not that _please Dean _tone of his that had been in heavy use almost since the day he'd learnt to talk. Damn him.

Reaching out a hand Dean grabbed up the drink and threw it back in one fell swoop, standing stiffly. He felt numb all over, but whether it was from dread or sitting too long he couldn't tell. Sam was smiling though as he turned towards him, falling into step alongside as they headed for the door.

_Thanks Dean_. It didn't need saying. Neither did the response.

_God this sucks. _


	3. Louis Armstrong and the Soul Sister

So here's the second to last chapter and I've got to be honest, I'm kind of pleased the rest of this little fic is getting it's day in the sun too! Thanks to everyone who wanted a tiny bit more, here it is.

* * *

**Louis Armstrong and the Soul Sister. **

To his credit, Bobby had not said a word as the Impala had drawn up alongside the house again, the beat-up little minivan behind it. Instead he'd simply stepped out onto the porch and stood in silence as Dean climbed out and mounted the steps. He'd paused briefly, giving Bobby a look of apology and gratitude mixed into the barest hint of an expression, and the cap-clad hunter had simply smiled and clapped him on the back fondly.

Sam stood back watching the exchange quietly from beside the car, only going to stand beside Bobby as Dean turned and headed into the house letting the door swing shut behind him. In the silence that followed Bobby heaved a weary sigh,

"You manage to talk some sense into him?" he asked lazily, throwing a sideways look in his direction.

"Didn't need to," Sam replied, fixing his gaze firmly on the door as if he could see what was going on inside. Bobby nodded, leaving the conversation at that. They both knew Dean well enough for it to be irrelevant anyway, somehow in the end he always managed to do the right thing and suddenly Bobby had never been more proud of either of them.

"Come on," he smiled gruffly, stepping away to allow Dean some privacy, "I left a cooler of beer somewhere out back before this all kicked off, you find it one's yours."

Sam smiled, casting one last look towards the door and willing Dean to succeed before turning and following Bobby out towards the rising towers of scrap cars that sat next to his home, watching the dry earth skitter across the toe of his boots.

_Come on Dean._

If he'd had known that his brother had only made it as far as the doorway of the lounge however he'd probably have felt a lot less enthused, although he might have understood if Dean had explained to him that he'd suddenly been plunged into a living deja vu. A scene that catapulted him straight back over fifteen years.

Morgan was sitting at Bobby's table, her little legs swinging animatedly from where they couldn't reach the floor, the tip of her tongue poking out in concentration and a coloured pencil fisted in one hand tracing a careful shape across a page. Around her other colourful drawings sat scattered and every so often Morgan would pause, push the pencil back carefully into the packet and select another. She couldn't see him, her hair swinging down low past her face as she bent in towards the paper, obscuring her view.

It was a pose he'd often seen Sam in throughout their childhood, particularly occupying the same spot at Bobby's table on the long weekends they'd occasionally spent with him. With no TV or computer, and a radio that only picked up the dullest of stations, drawing had taken up many an-hour of young Sam's life. It was probably where he'd got all his bookishness from, trust their dad to have produced Sam's smaller female counterpart in Morgan. Still, it brought a half-smile of reminiscence to Dean's face and the courage to clear his throat and step fully into the room.

Her demeanour changed at once, head shooting up so suddenly that one hand had to paw the strands of hair from her face, the tongue-tip disappearing and the eyes widening as she took in the figure before her. She looked frightened and instantly Dean felt himself shift onto the back-foot. She was scared of him? Not good.

"Hey," he began gruffly, voice grumbling low in his throat despite attempted clearing and a compensating smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "You, uh…drawing?"

It was a lame question, even he was aware of that but he'd hoped that it would at least break the ice. Instead Morgan remained quiet, eyes hovering nervously above the page as she contemplated how best to react. The last time the man before her had been in the room he'd been angry at her and she didn't want to say something that might annoy him again, after all, Bobby had told her the men were her brothers and the thought that she'd already managed to upset one of them was deeply troubling so instead she bit down on her lip – hard – and said nothing.

Dean however took the silence as failure and stepped in closer to the table, one hand reaching across to leaf gently through the pictures. Most of it was the usual stuff, flowers, a rainbow and something white with four legs and a golden stick in its nose that he assumed was a unicorn. He gave her a quick glance, watching round eye tip hesitantly in his direction,

"They're good," he offered holding them up and trying to illicit a smile. Morgan shifted nervously in her seat and from underneath her arms Dean could see the beginnings of another picture, a white pencil balled in her fist from where she'd been quietly working. He stepped further towards her, "And what's this?" he asked gently, watching her sit back quickly to let him see, her gaze dropping fearfully to her lap.

The picture was of what looked like a person, that is to say it seemed to have a body, two arms and two legs, what threw him however was the tall white shapes coming out of the head, two of them, pointed and white. It took him a second to work out exactly what he was looking at. Her stuffed toy rabbit.

"Hey!" Dean beamed, suddenly seeing his chance to make a break-through with her and reaching out to pick-up the little well-loved token sitting upright on the table beside her, "It's this little guy – ,"

He barely had time to close his fingers around it before it was snatched away from his grasp, Morgan moving like a rocket to take the rabbit up into her arms and hug it close to her. Alive with sudden panic, she pressed it hard against the underside of her chin, a ripple of anger flashing through her eyes although just as quickly replaced with fear. It was enough. Don't touch the bunny.

The brief ferocity took Dean by surprise, his hand still hanging in mid-air as he watched her turn her face down and continue to cling fiercely to her prized possession. The futility of the situation hit him head on like a punch. The kid wouldn't even let him touch the damn toy, what in the hell kind of chance did they ever stand as a family? She was practically a stranger and as far as she was concerned he certainly was. It was crazy, the whole thing was crazy, it was never going to work and with that knowledge came a new wave of anger, a silent raging against the whole stupid thing.

_I tried Sam. I tried._

Straightening himself with a short sigh that quickly turned into a grumble of frustration, Dean dropped the pictures back on to the table realising that the best thing he could do for Morgan was probably leave her in the relative peace she and her colourings had been in beforehand – at least then she'd seemed somewhat contented – and with an angry shake of his head he turned on his heel and started to stalk back across the room.

He didn't notice Morgan slip from the chair and rush desperately to stand in front of him until he almost collided with her, frowning in confusion at her sudden appearance and the hesitance of her lowered gaze. She didn't exactly seem comfortable with him but apparently nor did she want him to leave either. Weird.

For a second both of them stood in uncertain silence, each waiting for the other to make a move. Finally however Morgan stole a glance upwards, what she saw obviously settling some sort of internal conflict as she slowly raised her arm towards him, offering up the well-loved rabbit with a grudging determination that reminded Dean strangely of…well, himself.

It was a momentous gesture, the gravity of it lost on neither one of them and in an attempt to ease her lingering concerns Dean dropped instantly into a crouch before her, managing a small smile as he took the rabbit carefully from her grip and brought it across to sit casually on his knee. He knew the drill when it came to teddy bears, he'd had the practise with Sam who for a short time during their childhood had been obsessed by a brown bow-tie wearing thing that had once been Dean's until he'd prematurely out-grown it and passed it along to his little brother. Sam had trailed the thing around for close to three years before the limbs had reached the stage where re-attachment was just no longer possible, even with John's none-to-shabby sewing skills. Little Sammy had been inconsolable for about three weeks afterwards, the bear more than just some stuffing and bobbled material – it had been his friend, God knows Dean had been kept awake by their nonsensical 'chatting' enough times to know. Morgan's moth-eaten rabbit was her lifeline and it was with a pang of sympathy that Dean realised it was all she really had. Didn't surprise him that the poor kid was so grabby with it when she'd lost everything else she'd ever known. Smiling again more convincingly, Dean ran appraising eyes across the toy's quirky features. It was cute, in a battered grubby sort-of-way.

"What's it's name?" he asked gently, handing it back and noting with pleasure that her retrieval was a lot less frantic than it had been at first. Giving the rabbit to Dean had been a huge leap of faith and getting it back in one piece was her reward for that tentative trust. She hugged it to her briefly before her eyes found out Dean's again, the fear slowly starting to fade in favour of curiosity.

"Louis Armstrong," she replied in a tiny whisper, the animal's name surprising him almost as much as having got an answer in the first place. He blinked in bemusement,

"Louis Armstrong? The singer?" He watched her nod in response, the affirmative drawing another pause of intrigue, "Huh." _Fancy that_. He looked across at her again, taking in the big hazel eyes staring so solemnly into his own and nodding slowly, "You…you like that kind of music?"

She nodded again, more animated the second time around and suddenly bustling past him full of purpose so that he was forced to pivot towards the table. She was clambering her way back up onto the chair by the table and as it began to rock underneath her precariously Dean suddenly found himself on his feet beside her, steadying it with his hand, heart thumping in abrupt concern. _Kids_. The danger didn't seem to concern Morgan nearly half as much however, her focus instead on her drawings as she started to sift eagerly through them, closing fingers around a corner of the one she wanted and presenting it proudly in Dean's direction.

It was what looked like a woman standing on something flat and surrounded by lots of round shapes. The woman had scribble of blonde hair, a long black dress and little black notes were drifting out of carefully coloured red lips. Morgan watched his eyes trace the drawing closely,

"It's mama," she offered eventually, so quietly that he almost missed it.

"It's – ," and suddenly realisation hit and he needed no further explanation. Morgan had drawn Laurie up on stage singing. The balls weren't balls at all, they were the heads of the audience and hanging above them taking up nearly almost all of the upper half of the page was a big un-symmetrical star with flashes of yellow sparking from the tips. Of course she liked that kind of music, she'd probably grown up listening to Laurie sing it for a living. Morgan's gaze faltered slightly and suddenly she looked down again, her voice small and quivery,

"She's with the angels now."

Dean all but groaned. _Damn it kid, break my heart why don't you?_

"Mine too," he offered with a consoling smile watching her look up in surprise and sensing a new level of intimacy between them. He cleared his throat awkwardly, "So, you're mom liked Louis Armstrong?"

"Uh huh," she replied with a nod, standing up on the chair to lean in a little closer and not noticing as he moved a hand to hover behind her just in case,

"Anyone else?"

She thought for a moment, wrapping her fingers around the back of support and pulling her weight away from it until she was rocking on her heels. Vertigo was obviously not a problem for her, although it was doing things to Dean's nerves that he hadn't felt since…well, since Sam's was little and always trying to scale things.

"Ella Fitzgerald," It came out more like 'Fitch-cherald' but he knew who she meant, the revelation bringing a smile to his face. Well, well, the kid was a regular little soul sister.

"Yeah?" he replied, watching her eyes lighting up at the mention of the name, "She your favourite too?"

An animated head bob gave him his reply and Dean snorted dryly as he realised that Sam had been right after all, _"Talk to her, you might be surprised."_ He was that all right. Smiling to himself, Dean quirked a brow at her,

"You ever heard of Led Zeppelin?"

"No," she replied, sounding briefly perturbed that she hadn't as if she considered herself something of a musical connoisseur, "He – he a singer?"

"A band."

"Oh," she paused thoughtfully, "Like the Supremes?"

Dean grinned,

"Kind of."

Except nothing like the Supremes at all – apart from big hair, both bands had big hair.

"Are they _your_ favourites?" she asked curiously, her shyness catching up with her slightly at such a direct question. Dean didn't flinch,

"Yeah."

"Mine too," she shot back quickly, despite the fact that she'd just declared she'd never heard of them and that moments ago her favourite had been Ella Fitzgerald. Her desperate need for acceptance caught Dean in equal amounts of amusement and sympathy and he smiled across at her softly.

"Yeah?"

"Yup."

"What's your favourite song of theirs?" A cruel question but the momentary frown that flickered across her features was almost a reward in itself. She was clueless but not about to give in. He liked that,

"Ummm…"

"Stairway to Heaven?" he suggested slowly in the silence, watching her grab on to the lifeline with both hands and nod in sudden enthusiasm. He grinned across at her, tickled, "Good choice. That's a classic right there."

"Yeah," she agreed again, still nodding as if she were some sort of authority on the matter and completely unaware that she was being played. The whole thing was kind of…cute. _Damn_.

"You know…" Dean began after a brief pause, "Me and Sammy – you remember Sam?" she nodded quickly, Sam had obviously made a great impression, "We listen to a lot of Led Zeppelin on the road…maybe – maybe you'd like to come with us sometime and hear some?"

Abruptly her gaze dropped awkwardly towards Dean's tight grip around the head of the chair and to where her fingertips were tracing absently along the cuff of his leather jacket. He'd barely realised she was doing it and she certainly hadn't but still it felt strangely comforting, another shared intimacy between them and indicative of the newly-held trust she seemed to have in him. He smiled despite himself and suddenly Morgan realised why and stopped instantly, blushing.

"Would you like to come on the road with us?" he tried again, slowly becoming acutely aware that both his and Sam's entire existence rested upon the sentence he was floating so casually across the room. The truth was he liked the rag-tag day-to-day life they led. It was by no means perfect but it was theirs, it was all Dean had ever known and the thought of someone else inserting into it was almost frightening. As it turned out however, he was not the only one that needed convincing,

"The road?" Morgan repeated quietly from in front of him, gaze still pointed at her toes but her brow crinkled into a frown at the terminology. She probably thought he was inviting her to stand beside the highway with them. She probably thought he was nuts.

"Yeah, see me and Sam travel around a lot…it's called being on the road."

"Oh," she paused briefly and Dean could practically see her trying to figure it out, "You don't have a home?" she asked eventually, looking back up at him with an expression he couldn't quite read.

"No."

"Me either," Dean stayed quiet, not entirely sure what to say but he could see the fact that there were more similarities springing up between them building her confidence, "Does Bobby go too?"

"Sometimes."

As a sudden thought crossed her mind she quickly hugged the rabbit close again, the panic returning,

"Can Louis Armstrong come?"

"Does he like Led Zeppelin?"

Morgan nodded furiously and aware that he was probably being cruel Dean grinned and put her out of her misery,

"Sure kid, Louis Armstrong is more than welcome."

That settled that then, looked like she was going after all. Although –

As the door swung open behind him, Dean turned to watch a familiarly gargantuan figure slide in out of the sunlight, reaching a hesitant standstill on the threshold of the kitchen and peering inwards at the scene. Dean caught the flicker of a smile that passed Sam's face even before he'd made it, realising that the sight of he and Morgan stood so close and him with a protective hand gripping the seat was exactly the sort of thing Sam had hoped to see. God he was transparent.

"Hey," Sam greeted quietly from the door, stepping in and throwing an effortless smile at Morgan who grinned back in return. Enquiring eyes found out Dean, "Everything all right?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" came the reply, deliberately difficult and accompanied by an irritating smile. As Sam floundered with a response Dean turned to Morgan resting a gentle hand on her back, "Hey, me and Sammy are just going to talk grown-up stuff. Why don't you pick your favourite drawing to show to Bobby, huh?"

She nodded obediently and Sam watched with a smile as Dean helped guide her back down into the seat his jaw clenched in frustrated worry as she careered earthwards haphazardly with only his hand to steady the chair. Dean was wearing his big brother face, the one that saw danger at every turn and despite the fact it was being directed at someone else, Sam couldn't help but grin. He had known without a shadow of a doubt that if he could just get Dean in a room long enough with Morgan to hold a conversation all his natural instincts would kick right in. If anyone knew how good of an older brother Dean Winchester could be then it was Sam.

As Morgan slotted back onto the cushion, beginning to sift quietly through her drawings with one arm looped about the little white bunny, Dean finally let his fingers uncurl from their tight hold of the chair, stepping away and casting one final look back before drawing in close to Sam.

"Yeah?"

Sam was smirking,

"You okay?"

"What? Course I am."

"So…" Sam paused, not entirely sure how to broach the next sentence, "…she coming with us?"

As Bobby appeared in the doorway behind them stopping short as he noticed the conversation and keen not to pry, Dean sighed, aware the older hunter's eyes were flicking constantly in their direction. He was itching for the low-down himself,

"Pack up her stuff," Dean said quietly instead, raising his voice a little as he strolled out of the door past a suddenly-smiling Bobby, pulling the Impala keys out of his pocket as he went, "We're going to need to make some room."

"Wait," Sam called, stepping after him in confusion as his brother strolled casually towards the door, "Where are you going?"

"There's something I need to get,"

"I got beer in the fridge," Bobby fired back, confusion lacing his expression too. Dean shook him a look of amusement from the doorway,

"It's not alcohol Bobby," but he didn't care to explain what it actually was, instead flashing them a knowing smile before stepping out and shutting the door behind him, "This won't take long."

In the silence that followed Bobby turned a questioning look towards Sam who offered him only a shrug in return. He didn't have the first clue where his brother was going, but the buoyancy of his mood was enough to lift any concerns. If Dean said he'd be back, he'd be back and so instead Sam turned towards Morgan with a smile, clapping his hands together and noticing that she was already turned in their direction, watching the proceedings curiously.

"Hey, Morgan," he beamed, taking in a deep breath and knowing it was born from a mixture of anticipation and relief, "Want to show me where your room is?"

He offered out a hand and she slipped quickly from the seat to take it, leading him out of the room and off down the corridor. Bobby watched them go with a lop-sided smile. Somewhere John and Mary Winchester were damned proud of those boys, or at least they should have been. He sure as hell was and with a gruff snort of amusement he turned towards the refrigerator and shook his head. Dean may not have needed any alcohol, but he did.

It had been a hell of a day.


	4. The Butterfly Effect

**The Butterfly Effect.**

It had taken Dean a lot longer than he'd planned to find what he'd been looking for and by the time the Impala pulled back up outside Bobby's the sun was starting to dip into a warm ball of orange over the horizon. It would soon be dusk and Dean had been keen to get going a lot earlier – if they were going to try and get into a new routine then the sooner they hit the road the better. It was certainly going to be a baptism of fire all right, but then again the Winchesters had never done things the easy way.

The house itself seemed strangely quiet and as Dean let himself in door he realised why. Morgan was still sitting at the table, little legs swinging and her head bent low in concentration, the surprise however was Bobby, sat beside her similarly focused missing only the little piece of pink tongue sticking out across his lips. He was drawing. Bobby Singer was drawing with a five year old. Dean smirked in amazement. _Well I'll be damned_.

Stepping into the room and announcing his arrival with a brief bout of throat clearing, Dean watched as the older hunter's gaze slid upwards in wide-eyed horror. _Busted_. Dean quirked his head at him, his amusement unavoidable,

"Having fun?" he grinned, watching as the tip of the pencil spun in Bobby's fingers to point at him in warning,

"Not a word boy," he growled, gaze flickering sideways towards Morgan who was looking a little uncertain about the exchange. Dean's continuing grin lessened her fears,

"Come on Picasso," he continued brightly, stepping into the room and rounding the table to try and get a look, "Everyone's got to start somewhere."

"Back off."

Dean threw a conspiratorial wink at Morgan as he passed, watching a smile draw across her lips as she realised that the men weren't really angry at each other at all. Bobby shot her look of teasingly severe reprimand in response and tried to stop from chuckling as she smothered a giggle behind her hand.

"What is it? A butterfly? A princess?" As Dean stepped closer again Bobby's narrowed look travelled upwards, an arm crossing his paper protectively. _You'd just better be glad she's laughing_.

Dean's smirk widened,

_I am_.

The sound of Sam strolling into the room behind them effectively cut short the stalemate, drawing their attention to the holdall in his hand. In it he'd packed what few items of clothing Morgan had with her along with some of the assorted books and items that she'd carefully shown him on the grand tour of her temporary room. There wasn't much besides a few sparkly hair bands and the kind of cheap plastic jewellery that came out of arcade games, but amongst it had been a necklace that had once belonged to Laurie, a golden disc suspended from a delicate chain that Sam had been careful to wrap in tissue paper before slotting in with the rest. Morgan had watched him do it, trusting him wholly before heading back out to her drawing again. The necklace and Louis Armstrong were her two most prized possessions in the world and though she didn't know it, joined the Impala, their arsenal, Sam's laptop and Dean's pendent as the few coveted items in the frugal Winchester world.

He looked up in surprise as he spotted Dean, placing the holdall by the door and stepping towards them,

"Get what you were after?"

A nod met his query,

"Yep."

Although Dean obviously didn't care to elaborate further. As an awkward silence fell over the room Morgan bent her head again and quietly continued to colour while Bobby cleared his throat,

"You, uh, you know you don't have to leave if you boys don't want to," he began gruffly, avoiding eye contact in acute embarrassment, "There's more'n enough room if you wanted to…stay a while."

Sam shot Dean a look, smiling fondly and sharing a silent debate. Sam answered for both of them,

"Thanks Bobby," he replied gently, "But we should probably get going."

"Yeah," Dean filled in, a little more awkwardly, lifting an arm to scratch at the back of his head, "See we were on the way to a case and…" he tailed off with a shrug, leaving Sam to again fill in the silence,

"It's probably best we just try this out. See if it's going to work."

They all knew there were no guarantees on that one, either they were going to find a way to fit Morgan into their life on the road or they weren't, the point was they wouldn't ever know if they didn't get down to it. Sitting around killing time wasn't going to help one way or the other.

"We'll be back in a week," Dean added quickly, clear to reassert the trial-period as much for his own sake as the others. If things with Morgan didn't work out, he needed everyone to be aware that their impending departure was at best only a practise-run. Bobby nodded, instantly seeing the sense in their decision without the need for explanation.

"Right. Sure."

Part of him hoped they wouldn't be back for a month if only because it meant they'd managed to make a success of having the kid with them. It was going to be hard enough as it was without still having to keep up the 'day job,' as it were. She couldn't go to school of course, not since she was technically a missing child and that meant the burden of teaching fell largely upon them, probably Sam in a curricular sense, a challenge he'd no doubt rise to, Dean on the other hand would probably have her shooting bottles off walls within the week.

Of course another part of him – contending with his relief at being back to normal again – would kind of miss having the little girl there. She'd not exactly been hard work, sitting quietly on the floor beside the fire in the evenings, Louis Armstrong on her lap, fingers flicking through some of Bobby's books and taking in the various symbols with wide-eyed interest. It was probably just as well she'd not understood what she'd been looking at, plenty of time for the truth later.

In the prevailing silence, and noticing Morgan's gaze start to drift up at the grown-ups about her, Sam sighed and bent to recollect the holdall. He smiled at her and extended his free hand,

"Want to help me load this into the car?" he offered, watching her nod and shrug the cardigan closer about her shoulders. Dean helped her slide from the chair instinctively again and Sam smothered his smile as Morgan padded across the floor towards him, sliding her tiny grasp around one handle of the bag in an attempt to help him to carry it out. She looked up at him and smiled back, Dean and Bobby watching them go silently before turning to look at each other.

For a moment nobody moved and then suddenly Dean launched himself towards the table. Bobby however was fractionally quicker, ripping his picture up from underneath his arms and pivoting towards the fire. With one quick flick of his wrist the paper was abruptly thrown onto the flames and from there it was only a second before the scribblings were engulfed. When he turned to look back at Dean he seemed almost pleased with himself, an expression that faltered at Dean's sigh and accompanying eye-roll,

"Well that was mature."

Ignoring him pointedly the older hunter briskly turned on his heel and headed out to follow Sam and Morgan, Dean falling into step alongside him.

"Seriously Bobby…it was a butterfly, right?"

_Damn that boy_.

Sam and Morgan were already out by the car when he and Dean emerged into the dazzling orange light of the late afternoon sun, the rays painting the surroundings a beautiful shade of gold that made it painful to look anywhere other than a fraction above ground-level.

Morgan was standing looking newly awkward, gaze turned down to where she was working the toe of her boot nervously into the dirt, Louis Armstrong slung over one arm and pressed tightly against her. The possibility of leaving suddenly seemed a little overwhelming. Sam was half spread across the back seat of the Impala, shoving aside their rag-tag pile of clothes and papers in an attempt to clear a space for her and her meagre belongings. Bobby glanced down at her with rising sympathy, pushing back his cap a fraction to take in her fearful expression,

_Poor kid_. In the last few months she'd probably moved around more times than she could count, had her world turned upside down and not had one person to cling to or provide stability. Well, at least the last part could change. Sam and Dean were not exactly noted for their uncomplicated lifestyle but if there was one thing they could do then it was constancy. After all, they'd been pretty much the one constant in each other's lives since they'd been born and Morgan could do a lot worse than have that on her side.

"Hey," he began with a smile, bending down and placing a hand on the young girl's shoulder. He watched her peer upwards sadly, "Don't you worry none. You'll be back before you know it, hell, half the time I can't get rid of these two," he snorted, hefting a thumb over his shoulder in Dean's direction and ignoring the quirk of surprise that was bound to follow, "Those boys will see you right," and as Morgan nodded slowly he knew the conviction in his tone had done the trick.

In front of them, with a grunt of exertion, Sam emerged backwards from the backseat, rubbing hands on his jeans and smiling down brightly,

"So," he began, eyes flicking upwards towards Dean's quickly and taking in the silent nod, "Ready?"

Sensing the imminent departure, Bobby straightened up again, stepping back away from Morgan and looking gruffly around the little gathering with a stern expression,

"You boys take care, y'hear?"

_Of yourselves and that little girl_. They knew what it meant. Sam nodded seriously in response,

"Sure thing Bobby,"

_We won't let you down. _Nor had they yet.

As Sam extended his hand towards Morgan however, guiding her forwards towards the open car door, she suddenly turned, determination stamped across her face and buried herself into Bobby's legs, wrapping her arms hard around them.

"Bye Bobby," she whispered sadly into his jeans, trying desperately not to cry. The older hunter brushed a hand across her hair lightly,

"Bye kid."

And then with a deep and vaguely comical breath of resilience, Morgan turned and took Sam's hand, letting him gently help her up into the car and see her, and possibly more importantly, Louis Armstrong settled. Bobby's eyes never left her and sensing the need for simplicity Dean kept his goodbye short, walking past and clapping him on the back with a brief comforting hand.

"You did the right thing Bobby," he offered without looking at him, "You always do."

And then curse Dean Winchester and his rare but bang-on bouts of sincerity as the tears began to pool in the older man's eyes as he watched the leather jacket slide past him towards the driver's side. Sam too had turned to cast a fond farewell in his direction, nodding with a firm but sympathetic expression,

"See ya Bobby,"

He nodded back,

"You too son."

Because damn it if that's not what they were, or at least felt like. His family, of sorts. Not that he wanted to go with them, he was lucky to have a place to call home, full of the odds and ends he'd spent a whole lifetime collecting. Having a little lodger had been nice enough, in the same way having the boys staying was nice, but he was too set in his ways to accept the company for long. Too hardened by the job. His tears were as much for years of guilt being lifted from his shoulders as seeing them go. They'd be back soon enough and with that in mind he heaved a sigh, watching until the Impala was just a dusty speck on the horizon and then turning on his heel and spinning towards the house.

He was having a whisky and then he was going to catch up on the research he'd all but neglected in the few days past. He kind of wished he'd kept the butterfly drawing though, that had actually been pretty damn good…

Had he known that the rumbling Impala sat all-but quiet as it rolled onto the road he'd probably have been even more glad of his solitary, uncomplicated existence. Sam certainly was.

Sitting stiffly in the passenger seat he found his eyes wandering over his shoulder every few seconds, watching Morgan who sat unmoving in the back taking in the passing scenery but barely able to see up out of the window. He cleared his throat meaningfully and cast a glance sideways at Dean, who picked up on the gesture immediately and glanced over with a clueless, _what?_

Sam blinked at him,

_Do something!_

_Huh?_

A jerk towards the back did the trick and as Dean's gaze slid over his own shoulder he picked up on the mood almost as quickly.

"Oh, right," reaching out a hand Dean hit the button for the stereo and abruptly the car burst into the thumping sounds of Led Zeppelin. Sam gazed across at him in disbelief, watching his older brother's childlike grin in full flush. How in the hell was classic rock going to help things? Dean's expression responded to his frown instantly,

_Everyone loves Zeppelin Sam._

Only apparently Morgan didn't because when Sam's gaze slid back again all he could see were her hands clamped over her ears and hazel eyes open in a mixture of fright and shock. He flipped the sound off again quickly, his frown deepening in silent admonition. Dean sighed heavily in response, bending to fumble about in the driver's side pocket and after a few seconds of searching pulling out another cassette. He handed it over,

"Here. Try this."

Sam took it from him doubtfully,

"What is it?"

"You'll see."

Dean's proud-of-himself grin did little to reassure, but Sam stifled a sigh and pushed the thing in anyway, turning down the sound a little just in case it was something else heavy metal related. The calm and soothing tones of Ella Fitzgerald succeeded in surprising the crap out of him and for a moment he could have sworn he was hearing things. What in God's name was Dean doing with a compilation of Ella Fitzgerald?

"Had to go to a bunch of places," Dean informed him over the crooning, almost as if reading his mind, "Dude, do you know how hard it is to buy a cassette tape these days?"

He sounded surprised. Sam snorted, yeah, he had heard although he still couldn't work out why it was Ella Fitzgerald until Dean lifted his gaze and glanced over his shoulder with a smile,

"Hey Morgan? How's she sounding back there?"

Sam turned instantly in his seat and the change he saw on the little girl's face was almost heart-warming. She was sitting upright, eyes wide in delight, a smile on her face and the little white rabbit pressed against her chin in an impromptu squeeze of delight. Catching Dean's eyes she nodded enthusiastically, earning another smile,

"That's a-girl!"

Smothering a grin of his own Sam turned back to look at Dean, shaking his head in disbelief. Somehow, in the short time he'd spent with her, Dean had been able to work out what made the little girl tick. It was unbelievable, or at least it would have been if Dean hadn't always been intuitive with children. Maybe it was something to do with his natural rebellion or his own often-childish nature but somehow he just seemed to find things effortless. Still, it wasn't really a surprise that he'd managed to find out how best to comfort Morgan in such a short space of time. Dean was, after all, by and large a pretty good older brother when it came down to it. Now it was Sam's turn to try and emulate that.

"You okay Sammy?" Dean asked suddenly, interrupting his younger brother's musings with a brief sideways glance. Always concerned. Some things would never change.

Sam grinned, settling down against the leather upholstery and sighing deeply,

"Yeah," And he was too. For the moment they all were, and while it lasted he was going to enjoy every minute, "I really am."

* * *

Okay, so that's all I've done and I'm now considering this one finished. It was only ever meant to be a little experiment anyway so I think I've done quite well considering.

I'm glad people liked it and, you never know, there may be another one-shot or two somewhere down the line once I've written out all my other ideas! Never say never anyway, but for now wave Morgan goodbye – and since I created her I'm going to go ahead and say everything works out fine and she grows into a happy and surprisingly well-adjusted child (stranger things have happened!) – and say hello to 'normal' (whatever that is) supernatural fics once more!


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